


Too Late

by yourlackoffaith



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Child Abuse, Depression, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Stiles, Non Graphic, Panic Attacks, implied rape, injured on the job
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-18 21:16:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4720727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourlackoffaith/pseuds/yourlackoffaith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles walked into class with a limp on Monday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Can be read as a sort of sequel to my previous post, And I Do.

Stiles walked into class with a limp on Monday. This wasn’t the first time. His dark brown hair hung low on his forehead, big sunglasses hiding his eyes, a split lip, and a long sleeve sweater in ninety degree weather. I’m going to kill his father.

He hesitantly walked over towards the desk to the right of mine and exhaled slowly as he sat down, slightly arching his back as it made contact with the chair.

“Hey, Scott,” He turns his face towards me but doesn’t make eye contact, “It’s not as bad as it looks.” He says as he takes off his sunglasses, revealing a blacked left eye and cheekbone.

“The hell it isn’t?” I harshly whispered trying to keep my voice low.

“Where else are you hurt besides the obvious?” I ask while circling his face with a single finger. The bruises on his neck from last week have now faded green and yellow.

“Just my back and sides.” Unconsciously rubbing his jaw as he says so—a lie.

“Stiles, I can’t keep watching you like this from the sidelines. If you don’t do something, and soon, I will.” He bows his head, a scowl on his face.

This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation and unfortunately it won’t be the last as much as I want it to be. This has been going on for about 6 months now. Naturally, I would just go the police and report it but Stiles's dad is a fucking cop, the sheriff—and they protect their own. Besides, who are they going to believe? The veteran cop of 30 years or his son with a history of depression? His dad got hurt on the job, shot in the thigh, and has been desk bound ever since and probably will be for the rest of his career. Since then, he’s been making the best of it with a glass of whiskey in one hand and a baseball bat in the other.  Stiles thinks the cops will just say he’s acting out for attention. The bruises all over his body and his father’s knuckles beg to differ.

We drop the rest of the conversation. School isn’t the best place to have it. At the end of school, I drive Stiles and I back to my house. Stiles’s dad is working the late shift tonight so he won’t be missed. We make way with our homework, have dinner, and get ready to call it a night. I walk into my bedroom having just brushed my teeth just as Stiles takes off his shirt in turn for one more comfortable.

His back is littered in angry lashes, ribs splotched purple, green, and yellow like paint over his pale skin tone. His wrists and forearms are bruised in the shape of a hand and dare I say that they’re on his waist too.

Stiles turns around in a rush, quickly covering his chest with the shirt, eyes wide and wet. I stand frozen in the doorway.

“Stiles, I-” I don’t know what to say. What do you say?

“Just don’t, okay? Don’t. Look I know it’s bad, but Scott, “He pleads, tears running down his face, “he’s my _dad_.”

I walk over to him in long strides and wrap my arms around him, cradling his face in my neck.

“Not when he’s like this, Stiles. Not when he’s drunk”

I’ve been friends with Stiles since we were in diapers. Seeing his happiness circle the drain for the past couple of months has been hard—and it’s his fathers fault. He’s killing him and he doesn’t give a damn.

***

The rest of the week goes by smoothly until Stiles walks into the locker room on Friday morning. He’s heavy on his feet, swaying back and forth, catching himself on walls and stumbling into other kids on the way in. I walk over to him and help him the rest of the way to his locker and sat him down on the bench.

“Hey. Hey,” I say again more sternly, “What’s up? What’s wrong?” His eyelids open and close slowly and his head bobs up and down.

“I-I’m fine, don- worry Scotty” He slurs his words; he can’t even put on a fake smile.

“Come on, get up Stiles. Get up.” I say, worry evident in my voice as I try to stand him back on his feet.

“Where we goin?” His eyes roll back into his head as he looks up at me.

“The nurse. Now come on, up.” But as soon as he stands, he drops like a sack of potatoes.

_No no no no no no._

My eyes widen, air rushing into my lungs as I gasp for breath, heart racing faster than it already was, my body shaking as though I’m on vibrate. I think I’m screaming for help but I can’t tell. The other guys scramble for help or to leave, I don’t know. There’s a hand on my shoulder, a teacher. His lips are moving but I can’t hear what he’s saying. My vision tunnels on Stiles.

_This can’t be happening._

_This can’t be happening._

Another teachers walks over and checks for a pulse. He then lifts up Stiles’s sweater to look for any injuries, revealing a used-to-be white tank top now stained a dark crimson.

_Blood loss_

_Blood loss_

_Blood loss_

The paramedics show up but I’m not sure when, where, or how they got here. How much time has passed? Everything is happening too fast. The female paramedic with worried eyes utters the words “multiple, shallow, stab wounds to the chest and abdomen”. I stand up on shaky knees and sprint to the bathroom emptying my stomach in the toilet.        

Did the sheriff try to kill him? Actually kill him? His own flesh and blood. His own son. I look back down the isle of the lockers and see that Stiles has been loaded onto the gurney and is being wheeled towards the ambulance. I blindly follow, stepping into the vehicle and sit next to an all too still Stiles. The only proof of him being alive is the slow beating on the heart monitor.

My breaths come out short and fast as I reach my cold hand into my jeans pocket to pull out my phone.

_It’s too late, he could die, and it’ll have been too late._

_I should have done this sooner._

I unlock my phone and call the dreaded three digit number, my eyes set on Stiles as I listen to the monotonous ringing.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

I take a deep breath.

“I need to report a crime.”


	2. Chapter 2

The sheriff was arrested on Friday morning around 9 o'clock.

A deputy went by Stiles' house to check on things and found the sheriff passed out drunk on the couch with an empty bottle of whiskey still clutched in his hand. Not a crime, right? How about the bloodied kitchen floor with the sheriff’s badge thrown in the corner covered in Stiles’ blood? Yeah, that got him arrested real quick.

When the ambulance arrived at the ER, my mom was already waiting outside with a group of doctors. They wheeled him away pretty fast to get the bleeding under control. Since my mom knows Stiles, she couldn't be with him so she stayed with me in the waiting room. Thankfully, none of Stiles’ wounds were fatal. All the stabs wounds were shallow enough that only one nicked his spleen and he has a couple of fractured ribs in various stages of healing. The head of plastics stitched all the wounds due to an old favor he owed my Mom so the scarring shouldn't be too bad.

Right now, Stiles is still unconscious from the sedation and I can’t see him until he’s out of the ICU which could take a couple of hours. How do I tell him that his dad's been arrested and that he's essentially an orphan now? How does a conversation like that even begin? _Hey Stiles, so, your dad stabbed you 17 times in the chest with his badge and I called the cops and now he's under arrest for child abuse, neglect, endangerment--child everything_. That should go over well.

I’ve been kept out of the loop as far as his other injuries. Not only is Stiles a minor but I'm not technically family either. From what I’ve overheard, Stiles won’t need to testify. There’s enough evidence on him and in their home to put away the sheriff for a while.

I’m trying just to figure out how to help Stiles get through all of this. My mom has been talking with people to get Stiles to live with us—I’m hoping that will help somewhat with the transition process of losing his dad. As I’m mulling over my thoughts, I see my mom walk over with a tray of food in her hands.

“Hey, sweetie,” she says, “you need to eat something. It’s been a couple of hours since you’ve had breakfast.” She hands me the tray sporting a turkey sandwich, chips, and a cup of water.

“Anything new?” I ask as I take a big bite out of the sandwich.

“No, his vitals are still in good range and he should be out of the ICU soon. The police are hovering over him like hawks waiting for him to wake up. They still need a statement but then that should be all they need from him.” She leans back in her chair and takes a deep breath as she closes her eyes for a moment.

“What do _we_ do?” I look over at her and she puts on a sad smile.

She puts her hand on my shoulder and squeezes, “Be there for him. Be there for him in any way you can. He’s going to need all the support in the world right now.”

 

***

It’s been four months since Stiles has been out of the hospital. The sheriff plead no contest on the charges of child abuse and was sentenced to all of 7 years in jail and stripped on his badge. Not much of a punishment if you ask me. My mom was awarded full custody of Stiles so he’s been living at home with us ever since.

Stiles’ injuries have long since healed, but mentally, he’s been in and out of depressive moods and often wakes up in the middle of the night from nightmares. All of it is to be expected. He’s been improving though. We play videogames together a lot more often and he’s laughing again. Stiles being Stiles, his grades never dropped though he has been helping me with mine which he gets a big kick out of. He’s dubbed me his padawan and he my master of all that is school related. He’s forcing me to watch Star Wars soon come December because a new one is coming out. He wants to go to the premiere and dress up as a Jedi. He claims, “It’s not dressing up. It’s cosplay, Scotty.”

All in all, things are looking up. My friend is finally coming back. There’s no more limping or flinching. No more bruises or scratches. He’s becoming more and more like himself as the days pass.

I’m watching TV on the couch when Stiles’ head peeks from behind the wall, “Yo, Scott. Halloween is in like, T-minus 34 days and I’m not prepared for what the holy grail of costumes is about to bring forth.”

“Can’t you just be a Jedi?” I ask.

“Uhh, no. I was a Jedi last year and I can’t be a Jedi twice in a row or in the same year. I was thinking about being a storm trooper or maybe C3PO and you can be my R2D2.” He says pacing down the hallway in deep thought.

“What’s an R2D2?”

Stiles stops mid pace, chewing on his fingernails, to shoot a glare in my direction, “I’m not going to respond to that. In due time Scotty, in due time.”

I roll my eyes, “Can’t we just be batman or something?”

“Only if you’ll be my robin.” Stiles says lifting his eyebrows suggestively.

“Okay, no.” I laugh.

“OH, you could be the winter soldier…masked in mystery. And I can be the all crowd pleasing captain America.” He says staring at the ceiling in awe.

“You know that could actually work.”

Stiles’ hands shoot up in the air in victory, “Yes! Okay, time to search up costumes within the dark depths of the interwebs.”

He runs back upstairs in mock laughter to get his laptop as I shake my head smiling. He returns, laptop in hand, and places it on the couch next to me and goes to the kitchen.

“You want anything in here?”

“I’ll take a Coke,” I reply.

He comes back with 2 Cokes, resees pieces and resees cups.

“What? Don’t act like this isn’t an everyday occurrence.” He says as he throws some of the peanut butter chocolate in his mouth with no shame.

“So what size are you, fat ass?" Stiles says as he scrolls down a page of costumes.

“Ha ha very funny,” I say with as much sarcasm as I can muster, “and I don’t know, a medium maybe. Whatever size you get should be fine.” He hums in response.

I look at Stiles in amusement. He’s got his coke balanced on his laptop and half a reeses cup sticking out of his mouth. A look of sheer determination is on his face as he continues to scroll through costumes. I’m not even sure why we’re dressing up; we weren’t invited to any parties.

“Free candy, that’s why,” Stiles says, I guess I said that out loud, “It’s as good a reason as any.”

This is what I missed; our stupid back and forth banter of nonsense. This is what makes me wish I had called the cops sooner. The sooner I had called the sooner I would have had Stiles back. I can’t be thinking like that right now, not ever. There’s nothing I can do to change the past but I can prepare for a better future. Stiles is my best friend and he will always hold that title.

“Stop staring at me, creeper.” This makes me laugh.

“Alright, I found a pretty legit outfit for you,” He turns the screen towards me, “what do you think? Can you pull off this level of badassery?”

“I’ll try.”

“Do or do not, there is not try.” Stiles says in his best Yoda voice.

And we both laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know a lot of doctor or police talk so I kept it to a minimum. I did my best it. I hope this was a more satisfying ending than the previous chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm taking a creative writing class this semester. Let me know what you think. Any constructive critisim is welcome. Please let me know if you see any mistakes.


End file.
